


Sweater Weather

by thegraeyone



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Hoodie stealing, Idiots in Love, M/M, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-16 18:41:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19323874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegraeyone/pseuds/thegraeyone
Summary: Joey Wheeler and Seto Kaiba's relationship is good, even if they both struggle to admit that, but they both have a moment where they realize this might be for real.





	Sweater Weather

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this thanks to a mild obsession I have with Seto Kaiba wearing a hoodie and it sort of spiraled from there.

1.  


Joey cannot for the life of him find his hoodie.

It’s not important. It’s not like it’s his only one. But it’s his favorite one, and the inside is fleece lined, and the sleeves still smell like cigarette smoke even though he’s quit so on bad days he can press his face into his palms and breathe deep. It fits perfectly under his jean jacket which is why he wants it now, because he’s meeting Yugi at the game shop and it’s just started to rain. He’s kicked over the blankets on the couch and torn through his laundry twice over. He’s going to be late at this point, so he slides the jacket on and grabs an umbrella.

He’s probably left it somewhere, he thinks as he waits for his bus. Yugi’s after they played video games until the early hours of the morning. Tristan’s, the last time they hung out at his new place. And there’s always…

Joey opens his phone and scrolls through his text messages. Yugi and Serenity are up top, as usual, but his third most recent is S. Kaiba. _Seto_ still sits weird on his tongue. Kaiba gave him a startled look the last time he used it, and it’s probably the same look Joey gave him when he used _boyfriend_ for the first time. So the relationship moves slow. It’s worked for them so far. And Joey spends three nights a week at his apartment and that means something, though he’s a little nervous to admit what.

He thinks it might mean a little more if Kaiba did anything to break up his schedule, but it’s harder for him. The only time he relaxes is when they’re sitting on the couch together after they finished their take out from the guydon place Kaiba likes in Joey’s neighborhood, and when they’re laying in bed together, Kaiba’s eyes closing in sleep as he crosses his arm over Joey’s chest.

Joey’s pretty sure if he left his hoodie at Kaiba’s place, he would’ve already scolded him about it. He can imagine the blot of red color in the endless cool tones of his designed apartment, probably standing out against the white couch (stained at least twice now with the noodles Joey inevitably drop, which is really not his fault because who owns _a white couch_ ), or lost in a laundry hamper cuddled up with Kaiba’s designer shirts and too tight pants. It doesn’t match any Kaiba Corp aesthetic nor is it work appropriate. He’d notice right away and return it with a snide remark about Joey’s inability to clean up after himself, or his penchant for removing clothes without provocation.

He sends a text anyway and closes his phone, not expecting a reply for a while. The bus rolls up, and he’s nearly forgotten about it before it even rounds the next corner.  


Kaiba never really answers it, his next text an apology for disappearing into a work project that consumes his time for nearly a week. The timestamps on his messages are the middle of the night, and the early morning, which is how Joey knows he’s not sleeping. It’s Wednesday night when he decides to check on him. He gets the guydon and takes the train to Kaiba’s swankier neighborhood. No one answers when he bangs on the door. Kaiba gave him a key for this exact scenario, but he’s a little nervous to barge into his apartment unannounced, especially if Kaiba’s not even there, but he thinks he’ll drop the guydon off and leave a note.

The lamp by the door is off when he pushes open the door, and the windows on the far side of the open living room look out onto Domino City in the evening light, casting the whole apartment in complex shades of blue and purple and orange. It’s a strange twilight and makes the usually sterile place look almost homey. Joey doesn’t bother with the lights as he walks across the wood flooring, doesn’t want to intrude anymore than he already is, but he does stop when he sees, settled on the white couch, Kaiba’s laptop. The screen cuts a square of stark light in the otherwise naturally shaded apartment and illuminates the figure curled up in front of it in an unnatural blue.

Joey sets the bag of food on the coffee table after pushing aside three different half-finished coffee mugs and wrappers for protein bars. Kaiba is curled into himself, half dressed from his work day, brown hair messy from where his face is pressed into the couch cushions. He’s breathing slow and calm, but his fingers twitch on occasion. Joey rubs a hand against his shoulder, and he stops when he notices the feel of his jacket is familiar, and it smells faintly of cigarette smoke. The shade of red is dark in the shine of the laptop screen.

“You bastard,” he says under his breath.

It’s enough to stir Kaiba into waking. He rolls back and looks up at him with bleary eyes. A sleepy smile crosses his lips.

“That’s a rude way to wake someone up,” he says, and his voice crackles.

“Hey,” Joey teases. “I’m being sweet right now. I brought you dinner and everything.”

He lifts up slowly, and they are sitting shoulder to shoulder. It takes no effort at all for Joey to lean forward and leave a kiss against his lips. Kaiba makes a small noise in response. It lasts a little longer than either expected. Joey guesses that they miss each other.

“Damn it,” Kaiba says when he pulls away and sees the time on his computer screen. “I fell asleep for an hour.”

Joey grins at him. “Think of all the productivity lost.”

“Don’t joke,” he says, but there’s no bite, and he closes his laptop. “I was hoping to go to sleep at a reasonable hour tonight.”

“I can help with that,” he says. “But eat your beef first. You can’t live on coffee alone.”

Kaiba only gives him a look as he carries his computer into the other room. When he returns a few minutes later, Joey’s got their bowls set up and is forcing a water into his hands. He joins him on the couch. At no point does he remove the red hoodie, and Joey doesn’t comment on it. Kaiba sitting between his legs, his head using Joey’s shoulder as a pillow, the low resonance of his voice as he explains things like complex variables and microcode, Joey gets all the comfort he needs out of it.

 

2.

The bathroom air is still sweet smelling from Joey’s shower, and the mirror is all fogged up. Seto can knot his tie for work without having to see his reflection. The muscle memory is instinctual, which is good, because he’s distracted in the moment by the fizzy aroma of faux strawberry and an earthy eucalyptus, alongside the creamy fragrance of his shampoo. Joey didn’t stick around, giving him a messy kiss on the cheek and leaving water droplets on the sleeve of his shirt, but his scent remains.

There are six shampoo bottles lining Seto’s shower right now. Only one of them belong to him. He knows, because he needed a q-tip earlier, that there are three more beneath the sink. He doesn’t see Joey bring them in. Inevitably, another will appear. At this rate, Seto’s substantial master bath will be crowded out. They’ll build a house out of the empty bottles.

He doesn’t know what to do with that thought, so he lets it go and heads to the elevator. He nods to his driver as the door is opened for him. It’s barely 7:30, and the day is threatening to be a long one. He has meetings all day, with barely a break in between, and the newest game they’ve been testing for the past six weeks is proving to be ridiculously buggy. His headache is leftover from yesterday and threatens to begin anew.

Seto doesn’t even make it to his office before he’s swept into a conference room with the mobile app team. It’s mostly useless information, but he has to approve everything before they can get started, so he listens to Norimoto babble about social media outreach for an hour. The rain from last week has left, and Domino’s golden sun rises outside the conference room window. It paints beams of light the same shade as Joey’s hair. The mist from the shower must’ve clung to him, because he can smell whatever concoction it is he uses. It dazes him.

“Mr. Kaiba?” Norimoto calls, and he returns his attention to the team. They’re all waiting on his reply.

“I’m sorry,” he says smoothly. “It’s still early. Can you repeat?”

Norimoto does, explaining the user activation process. Seto sits back straight, looking attentive as he can. He ignores the glances his employees shoot to each other.

He at least gets a coffee before he finds the head of the motorcycle company KC has been working with in his office. There are contracts to be signed and deals to be made and people to appease. The motorcycle CEO throws his weight around some, but Seto has mastered making demands and getting results. Still, their conversation lasts him an hour and a half. He finally has time to check his emails after he leaves. The morning scent of Joey’s shampoo has faded away. Everything in his office smells clean and rubbed down. There’s not much comfort to be found.

The day drags like that. As usual, Seto is still in his office well after anyone else. Domino’s neons can’t quite reach him this high up, so he’s left with moonlight and shades of blue after the lights dim. He’s working intently, with projects to finish, designs to approve, micromanaging to be done. He barely notices the door to his office open.

He doesn’t even react when Joey stands over his desk, hands tucked in his jacket pockets. He sits on the end of Seto’s desk and looks out the view. 

“I don’t know how you get anything done up here,” Joey says.

Three teasing remarks pop into Seto’s head. He doesn’t say any of them. His thoughts are already sliding away from the spreadsheet in front of him, but for the moment he’s content with the quiet. He’s content with Joey’s presence hovering beside him, content knowing that Joey has thought of him today just like he has, content to sit and breathe in the faint scent of his shampoo.

It’s quiet moments like these, after game night at Yugi’s, during tournaments, between long work days and overheated arguments and business trips away and everything they’ve gone through, together or apart, that have built this relationship. That have turned their rivalry to friendship to something else entirely. A culmination of a decade’s worth of interaction.

It’s strange to think about. Seto still doesn’t believe in things like _destiny_ or _fate_ , but they’ve spent so long in orbit around each other, it feels natural how they’ve come together.

“Okay,” Joey says, rocking him from his thoughts, “you’re not even working now.”

Seto closes out of the document. “You’re distracting me.”

“How?” he asks. “I’m not even doing anything.”

“You’re always doing something,” he says and stands. “Don’t pull that innocent look on me.”

Joey bats his eyelashes as he looks up at him, a smile perfect on his lips. “What innocent look?”

Seto leans down to plant a kiss there. Joey tilts his head, and it blooms into something more.

“I wanna get you home,” he says softly. He’s making promises with his tone. “You gotta relax.”

Seto’s shoulders are already losing tension, and the breath he’s been holding all day releasing against his lips. He should stay, because it’s easier to finish his work with nothing to distract him, and Joey can be very distracting. But his face presses into the shag of his hair, breathing in the sweet smell of the product he uses and the tang of his sweat and the hint of cigarette smoke on his old clothes. He can’t think about anything else.

It’s an unproductive evening, not that Seto minds. He sleeps more soundly with Joey wrapped around him and wakes slower as Joey finds ways to keep him in bed. Seto eventually manages his way out of warm bedsheets and the broad palms of Joey’s hands before stepping into his shower. As the water runs over his back, he counts the bottles. Seven now. They’ve populated overnight. At this rate he’s amazed Joey has anything left in his bathroom. He’ll have to move in here.

The thought is startlingly easy. Seto starts to hone in on it, but the bathroom door opens, and Joey declares he’s taking too long before stripping his pajamas off and joining him.

Seto doesn’t worry about it. He doesn’t think about how he’s definitely going to be late to work, or the meetings he has planned, and he doesn’t wonder if he’ll carry Joey’s fragrance with him all day. He’s content to be here instead.


End file.
